The days flew by, and yet not a single new song dropped. Ama must have finally realized I'd caught on to her game. She knew the moment she tried to steal and release another song, I'd blow her cover wide open.
I had set a trap for her and this time, she wouldn't be that stupid to fall for it.
I leaned back in my chair, headphones snug, listening to my recordings again. Every note, every beat was flawless. In just three days, I'd created eight powerful songs, enough for my debut EP. My manager had demanded it, and I'd delivered. Now all that was left was one simple move.
With my heart pounding, I hit send. My songs were finally out of my hands.
I didn't even get a second to breathe before Becky burst into the studio, arms full of yet another massive bouquet of flower. A tiny gift box dangled from her fingers.
"You've got mail… again," she teased, dropping the flowers on the desk.
My eyes lingered on the card. Same handwriting. Same words. 'From your biggest fan."
I frowned. Who was this mystery person? The gifts never stopped coming. Roses. Chocolates. Jewelry. Always anonymous. Always signed the same way.
At this point I was acted of even collecting the flowers anymore.
Maybe it was because the whole world now knew about me and Fred's divorce. Maybe other men thought I was finally free.
I wasn't used to other men wooing me, maybe because I had dedicated all my time and life loving Fred Orchard, and in the end, I got killed. But this time, I was willing to move past that.
I'll start a new. There might be other men out there who wouldn't mind my bad image and endless scandals. There might be someone out there who wouldn't mind me being labeled a whore.
"Beautiful isn't it?" Becky asked with a smile. "He even bought you a gift. How beautiful."
"We don't have time for this Beck, Martin is going to call anytime soon for the songs I sent. I'm a bit nervous." I said.
I wasn't scared that the songs were not good, but I was scared of Ama stealing my music again. Though I had a backup plan for it. I had given him the less good songs.
"This is a Black Baccara, Miss Maeve," Becky said, her voice soft with awe. "One of the rarest roses in the world. At this rate, we could start a flower shop. Whoever keeps sending these must be head over heels for you."
She placed the bouquet beside the growing pile on my table, then tugged open the velvet box that came with it.
Her gasp filled the room. "Miss Maeve…" She covered her lips with trembling fingers. "This is the Rule Paola limited-edition pearl necklace. Your name is engraved on it. Do you know what this is worth? A couple million at least."
I gave the necklace a glance, the shimmer catching in the light, before rolling my eyes.
"Your secret admirer is loaded," Becky teased. "If this isn't love, I don't know what is."
"I don't have time for love, Becky. I just got out of a divorce."
Her smile faltered. She caught herself before saying his name. "Messy or not, you're free now. Everything will be fine." She set the pearls back in the box gently, like she was afraid even breathing on them would crack their shine.
"Fine," I echoed. But my chest tightened.
Becky cleared her throat, switching gears. "The competition is next week. And it seems your plagiarist is joining."
I froze. "What?"
"She'll debut at the competition. Rumor is Mr. Orchard built the entire lineup just to showcase her."
My pulse thudded in my ears. In my past life, this was ground zero. She hadn't joined the competition but had accused me of stealing her music. It was the day the headlines turned, and my career burned to ash.
"She doesn't even have a face yet," I muttered.
"She will soon. Fred will make sure of it." Becky's tone hardened.
Of course. Fred wasn't just angry I dumped him. He wanted to bury me alive. But I'd lived this nightmare once. This time, I knew where the traps were laid.
"Did you get the video from my wedding night?" I asked, shifting quickly.
Becky winced. "That… was harder. Someone got there before me."
My eyes narrowed. "And?"
"I still managed to grab a copy. Had the rest deleted from their system. Told them they'd be sued if it surfaced again." She slid a flash drive across the table.
I was too late. My gut told me exactly what it had in my past life, someone else already had it. And someone was waiting for the perfect time to release it.
"It's fine," I said flatly, though we both knew it wasn't. I just have to be prepared for what is to come.
My phone rang, slicing the air. Martin's name flashed on the screen and I picked up.
"Maeve, I've listened to the music." His tone was clipped.
Relief pricked me. "Good. Can it be released now?" He was silent for a while, his voice turned cold.
"No. Mr. Orchard says it's useless. Not worthy of his label. He wants new songs. Eight of them. By the end of the day."
My mouth fell open. "Eight songs? In hours? That's impossible!"
I'd poured myself into that EP. Each track flawless. Each note ready to hit the world. And Fred dared to call it useless?
"This isn't about the songs, Maeve," Martin said, his voice lowering. "This is about you. You left him humiliated, and he's bleeding you dry in return. You're not his wife anymore, you're his enemy."
Heat crawled up my spine, fury mixing with dread.
"I don't care if the songs are good," Martin continued. "He doesn't want your voice out there. You're not a fan favorite anymore. You're hated. Every post, every article, every whisper is against you. Maybe it's best you step back. Leave music for a while or better yet sell your song to the new rising star."
What the fuck?